


Norsemen

by Slone13



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slone13/pseuds/Slone13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kill a man, you are a murderer.</p><p>Kill millions, you are a conqueror.</p><p>Kill them all, you are a god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Norsemen

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story for a short story contest I will be entering within March. This was fairly difficult to come up with (bless the library), so please enjoy.

A crow was perched up on the highest peak of the colosseum-like arena. Its piercing golden eyes staring down at the spar between Jason and Georg. However, it wasn’t must of a spar, rather than a grudge match. They struck with brute force Percy didn’t even know the son of Jupiter had, but he guessed that being raised by wolves could make a man ruthless. Though, Jason wasn’t ruthless, and he didn’t fight that way either. Georg did, with his double-edged sword and wrestler-like build, he could have no trouble knocking Jason out.

With a swift horizontal swing, the son of Thor sliced down Jason’s chest, letting out a throaty battle triumph. The Norsemen campers cheered, pumping their fists into the air and hollering, “Georg! Georg! Georg!” over and over again, until it became a rhythmic chant.

Percy wanted to do something, but he knew Jason could win his own battle. He already had his title as Savior of Olympus; he didn’t need another title representing the Savior of a Friend Who Could Not Fight His Own.

That is, until the crow that sat at the highest peak swooped down toward the demigod battle. Percy wanted to warn the creature, heading for its potential death, but the son of Poseidon’s throat swelled and he choked on his words. Before all eyes, the crow shifted and changed into a humanized being, wearing the night’s cloak and having the face of a mischief-maker. It was Vincent Walsh, the leader of Camp Norse.

Vincent landed swiftly in between Georg and Jason, his ghostly hands out as if to stop oncoming traffic. His golden eyes glared darkly at his cousin, daring him to strike. Georg halted his actions, sword mid-raised, but he sheathed it with detest. Vincent sauntered up to Georg, grabbing his arm, and said something no one could hear.

Then, Vincent announced, “There is nothing to see here.” His voice echoed loudly. “Go back to your activities, all of you.”

As if the shadows applied to his very command, the son of Loki allowed he cousin and him to be swallowed by the glooms the Fighting Range composed. No one seemed too shocked at this, but four visitors that had come were surprised at what they saw.

Beside Percy, Nico muttered, “Shadow Travel… Impossible.”

Nothing could be impossible. Not when one defends one’s self from mythological creatures that should never have existed since the beginning of time. However, they do, and life becomes existent.

 

A light at the end of the tunnel and Vincent was standing within his office in the Ritual House, watching as Georg stumbled forward to catch his balance. The shadows retreated into the corners of the room, waiting for their master’s word.

“Why must you be so rash?” Vincent asked, walking around his cousin to stand in front of him.

Georg stood up, his eyes glazed over until he found Vincent’s gaze and glared. “Rash?” he questioned. “They are _Roman_ , Vincent. How can you simply stand back and watch as they take our land; our _home_?”

Vincent’s fingers crackled with black energy, his temper flared over. “ _Take our home_ , you say? They have done no such thing! The Greek and Romans have allied, and with their help, we may see the light of peace again.” A deep breath of relaxation. “It is the only way that our people are safe. Too many have died because of those monsters, and want to see them die with respect and honesty; not cold-bloodedly and vacillating.”

“I—”

“By Odin,” Vincent growled, “I hear by sentence you casted.” The words seemed to choke him. “Never come back. Georg Walsh, son of Thor, nephew of Loki, and grandson of Odin; I grant you farewell from the Norsemen.”

Georg didn’t move. He didn’t even speak one work. Only his eyes spoke the truth, and the truth was an unexpected hit to the face—blown over by the forces of realization. _Casted_. His home. Gone…forever.

“Vincent…” His words failed him, and he found himself outside by the camp’s gates before he could compromise his responsiveness. Both hands carried his life—memories and all.

He was gone before he knew it, and with only the brief good-byes he’d received before his leave, he held his head high and walked past the Gateway.

Vincent watched solemnly, his face masked from years of isolation. Pia sauntered up to the son of Loki, placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder. She was four-moons pregnant now, her stomach bulging with soon-to-be life.

“He was your only family,” she said to the young leader. “You casted him out as if he meant nothing.”

He couldn’t simply _tell_ her his true feelings. How he had wished he’d let Georg stay, and wished he’d spent more time with him rather than his studies. Nevertheless, life has its reasons and one must follow them to become single with all. So, Vincent straightened his standing posture, flattened his cloak of wrinkles, and turned to his pregnant friend with a smile that could fool even the gods.

He said coolly, “I have done what had to do for my people. If it must be, I will not hesitate.”

“Oh, Vincent,” Pia murmured softly. “What has become of you?”

“Nothing, my dear Pia, as I am still the boy I was three years ago.”

Pia did not say another word, for she stared sympathetically at her friend, staring into his golden eyes. His soul was wrapped in layers of lies and suffering. But, within ever bundle of hardship, was a core of forgiveness and kindness.

A heart filled with liquid gold.

A shower of happiness.

A soul deemed worthy for all to see.

 

_Kill a man, you are a murderer._

_Kill millions, you are a conqueror._

_Kill them all, you are a_ god _._


End file.
